


More Than Anyone Else

by calmlikesurrender



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:22:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmlikesurrender/pseuds/calmlikesurrender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're going to start wondering if it's even worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Anyone Else

And they tell you.

  Maybe in lesser terms, maybe between pointed commands, but they do.

   _You’ll have more money than you can possibly spend._

  Alright, Zayn thinks, no problem. He digs down deep into his pockets and finds enough loose change to buy his parent’s house twice over.

  No houses or cars for him, though.

  He just tracks down an old friend and offers him a good lay for a bundle of snow-white forgetfullness. Spends the rest of the night sprawled out on his bed, wrapped in sheets and Louis’ legs, the air in the room thick with sweat and sex and blow.

  _You’ll get to see the world._

  Not a bad trade for missing out on a few family gatherings. He parties like death in the darkest clubs he can find in every country, nosing up to anyone who’s too high or too horny to point out that he’s got blood stains on his jumper and dried cum in his hair (Louis and his random  _notions_ ).

  He slips into dreams in the middle of performances, missing words and the beat, but one of the others always covers for him.

   _Everyone will know your name._

  Sick.

  He’s handed things he never even knew to ask for. And it’s good.

  Except there’s something missing because he still gets all hollow and shaky when Louis’ hand isn’t gripping his. When he’s lying on his back on his bed and the ceiling turns from white to grey to black, then maroon and the night sky. He can’t keep up. He doesn’t think he ever could.

  Because no one ever said, “Maybe you should think hard about this, Zayn. This might not be what you want.”

  But maybe he wouldn’t have been strong enough to say no anyway.

   _You’ll be more alone than you can ever imagine._

  But he has Louis- this fit, trembling, masterpiece. Never sloppy or worried or difficult.

  Except Louis’ not enough. And something deep down in a place Zayn thought the drugs had taken over a long time ago, in that place he feels another pair of hands on his hips.

  Strong, heavy, but… gentle.

  And he sees brown eyes behind Louis’ thick blue when he’s spooning their medicine between his lips and kissing away what tries to slip down.

  Louis gets him. More than anyone else. He understands what Zayn needs.

  But there’s still this strange static when he can’t see anything past the clutter and he pictures Liam molding with him and it’s slick slopes but they don’t glide.

  He slips into the cracked edges of Zayn’s dark skin, a comforting arm on his shoulder.

  “You can talk to me,” Liam says, “If anything’s wrong. If anything’s bothering you.”

  But how can he tell him?

  “I’m tired. I need a break. I need a hit. I need you.”

  Zayn only nods and Liam walks away, all easy pieces and hearts and hope. And Zayn is distance and regret and tuning people out.

  So when Louis kisses him that night, sliding his hand to the band of his boxers, he closes his eyes and imagines Liam’s warm touch. Even when Louis’ breathing down his neck, their bodies rocking together close and then closer and then drifting- it’s Liam’s voice he hears, but can’t have.

  No, they never prepared him for this.

   _You’re going to start wondering if it’s even worth it._

  Why had no one told him before?

  Maybe it’s for the best..

  He lets his hands slip past the sink again, not able to gather the strength to push them back as he falls to the floor. His throat’s dry, but that’s okay. And his head feels a little light, but that’s fine, too.

  If it was fun, more people would do it, right?

  He thinks it to himself as he knows he’s slipping. Or diving.

  Diving because this is his choice. To the last rung.

  All he hopes is that Louis finds him and not Liam. He doesn’t want Liam to see him like that. Not curled up now, half naked on the kitchen floor in a puddle of his own vomit.

  Then the slipping starts to feel good.

  And he gets this buzz right behind his eyes and it stays with him and he’s thankful. It’s comforting- to know that he’s not going alone. He gets to keep the blow right to the end.

  It’s not Liam, it’s not tall and kind eyes and flushed cheeks and forever hopeful, but it’s still good. Still better than himself. Which is really all that matters.

  All that’s mattered from the beginning.


End file.
